Waking Up to Love (14 page)

“Hey,” he said.

“Hello, Scott.” Was it just his imagination, or did she sound cold? Normally, he enjoyed listening to her voice. She had a musical quality, so even when she was talking about mundane things like parking tickets or shampoo brands, it sounded like she was happy. As a kid, he'd always thought she sounded like a Disney princess, only contemporary and slightly less innocent.

Now, though, he didn't hear any music at all. Now she sounded like a professional phone book reader.

Then again, maybe it was his imagination. He'd just caught her after a long day of school and work. Maybe she was just tired. After all, the Little Mermaid didn't have to spend nine hours a day re-shelving books based on the Dewey Decimal System.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. A single word. Now Scott knew it wasn't his imagination. She was upset, cold. Something had gotten to her. Compared to their back-and-forth sparring at last night's dinner, she sounded practically undead.

He knew he needed to find out what was bugging her sooner or later, but he couldn't just ask her outright. Ramona wasn't the kind of girl to bare her soul that way. He needed to broach the subject in a subtle way, secret agent-style. She'd tell him. He knew she would.

“Um,” he said, “I was wondering … Our fish habitat project is just about finished. I thought you'd be interested in coming down to check it out. I mean, you always said what a fascinating project it was.”

“Very fascinating,” she said.

“So, how about tomorrow?” he asked. “You wanna—?”

“Listen, Scott. I appreciate the offer and everything. But unless your mother is magically going to be on BLM property, I don't see the need in my presence there.”

“This isn't about Mom,” he said. “I thought you'd be interested. The guys and I have spent the last month and a half on these things, and I wanted to invite you, the real you.”

“There is no real me,” she said. Scott didn't know what she meant by that.

“So you're not interested?”

“No. Sorry.” She fumbled with her car keys, but they wouldn't fit into the door. She was too distracted. “Now if you'll excuse me,” she added, “I really need to get home. I haven't made a dinner for myself in days, and I was hoping to have some alone time.”

“You hate alone time,” Scott said.

Ramona's car keys fell out of her hands and clattered onto the asphalt. She swore loudly.

Scott crouched down to pick them up, but Ramona grabbed them before he could.

“I really appreciate the invite, though,” she added.

Scott leaned against her station wagon, because he knew she hated that. He left a big handprint in the dust. “What's with the mood swing?” he asked.

“This isn't a mood swing,” she said.

“I always thought your sister was the one with the mood swings,” he said. Again, he wanted to strike a nerve.

“This isn't a mood swing,” she said. “And maybe I'm turning into my sister. After all this pretending, she might be rubbing off on me.” She retried unlocking the car door. This time, there was a click. She yanked the door open.

“That's not true,” he said.

“It could be,” Ramona said. “You'd better watch out, or I might run away from you, too.” With that, she hopped into her car, slammed the door, and turned on the ignition. In seconds, she was down the road and out of sight.

If Scott didn't know better, he'd think that Ramona was purposely trying to push him away. She was intentionally being hurtful. He didn't know why, but he certainly knew one thing: it worked.

“She was just cold, guys. I don't even know.”

It was a surprisingly cool day at BLM. Scott and his crew ate their lunch on the roof of the office building. Scott did most of the talking, so he still hadn't touched his tuna sandwich.

Miguel and Quinn sat cross-legged across from him, while Terry leaned over the edge and stared into the rushing river far below.

“Women,” Miguel mumbled. “Like
mi abuela
always says—”

“Please stop misquoting your grandmother,” Quinn cut him off. “I have some real advice for our little Romeo.”

Miguel shoved Quinn, and Quinn shoved him back.

“No offense,” Scott said, “but I don't know if I want to take relationship advice from either of you.”

“But
mi abuela
—”

“
Or
your grandmother,” Scott said.

“Then why have we been listening to your problems for the last half hour?” Miguel asked.

“Because I saved your life this week,” he snapped.

Terry took the opportunity to rejoin the conversation. “Burn!” he shouted. “Damn, Miguel. You got schooled.”

“Anyway,” Scott continued, “I didn't tell you the rest of it. See, she kissed me.”

“You mean, like, for real?” Terry asked. “Not an act?”

“Yeah,” he explained. “We were at the dinner table. And it was her way of letting me know how she really feels. It was good, too.”

“She took the initiative?” Quinn asked. “That seems like something Nessa would do, not Ramona.”

“Wow,” Miguel said. “But you're still married to her sister, right?”

“Legally, yeah,” he said. “Wherever she is. And I'm just not ready to—”

“You told her that?” Quinn asked. “You told her you weren't ready?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, there you go. That's why she's cold. She put herself out there and you shot her down.”

“It wasn't like that.”

“It sorta was, dude,” Terry said.

“But right after that,” Scott said, “we had a great time together. As friends. There has to be something else that happened.”

“Naw, man. I think it's just you,” Quinn said, trying to sound like the voice of reason amidst all this macho, twentysomething banter. “Whatever happens, happens. The important thing is that we're all invited to your big party this weekend, yeah?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah?”

Scott left them hanging for a second, before answering, “Of course. As long as you are on your best behavior. Oh, and Miguel …”

“What's up, boss?”

“We have a working fountain, so you better not get too close.”

• • •

Ramona sat in the McInney back yard, struggling to connect wires and cords for the party's speaker system. She wasn't the most techno-savvy twentysomething, so it involved a lot of plugging and unplugging randomly. She might as well be defusing a bomb. With a big smile on her face, Debra sat next to Ramona and handed her a crinkled sheet of paper.

“What's this?” Ramona asked.

“Just look!”

Ramona gave up on the speaker system. Once Rob got home, he could figure it out. Instead, she unfolded the paper. There in her hands was a list of about sixty names written in scratchy blue pen. Debra's handwriting. After each name, Debra had drawn a happy face.

“Who are these people?” she asked.

Debra tried to look modest, but it wasn't working. “Oh, those are all the people I invited to our party tomorrow.”

“
All
these people?”

She nodded. “And guess how many said yes.”

Ramona shrugged. “Forty-two.”

“All of them!” Debra shouted.

“That's fantastic!”

“I know!”

Ramona ran through the list of invitees. She recognized most of the names. “Who's that?” she asked, pointing to someone named Shirley.

“Bridge club,” she answered.

“And that?”

“Bridge club.”

“And that?”

“Comic book convention.”

“What?”

“Bridge club.”

Already, Ramona was impressed by the turnout. “And all these people said yes?” she asked.

“Every single one,” Debra said.

“Wow. You're one popular lady.”

“Pity points,” she joked. “A coma does wonders for your social life. You should try it sometime.” It was good to hear her joke about such a serious topic. Debra McInney was definitely getting her old personality back.

Ramona studied the list one more time. There was something not quite right about it. Then, it hit her. “Debra? Aren't you going to invite Ramona?”

“Your sister?” she asked.

“That's the one.”

Debra blushed. Ramona had never seen her blush before. It made her seem so much younger than she actually was. “Well,” she admitted, “I figured she'd visit me when she was finally ready to. You know how much I care for your sister.”

Ramona nodded.

“It breaks my heart that I haven't seen her since, well, the wedding. But you know how things go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ramona was always more fragile than you,” she explained. “Losing sleep over the littlest things. Once she gets over all her heartbreak, she'll come to see me. There's no sense rushing things. I figured if she wants to come forward and talk to me—about anything—she can. I'll be waiting.”

Those words pierced Ramona straight in the heart. How could Debra think so little of her?

That's it,
Ramona
decided.
I have to come clean
.

This charade had gone on long enough. It had been more than a week already, and Debra seemed healthy enough to take the news. If Ramona waited any longer, she'd go crazy. Besides, Debra would already feel betrayed by this deception. The longer she waited, the more their relationship would be permanently damaged.

“Debra?” she said.

Debra looked up from their papers. She smiled expectantly. It was the same smile she'd always had, a special smile that only a parent would have for her child. Ramona loved her so much.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. Her voice was strong and confident. “You know you can talk to me.”

Yup. This was the perfect time.

“Debra, I have to tell you something.”

The older woman was clearly caught off guard by Ramona's serious tone. She accidentally dropped her papers onto the ground. “One second,” she said. And as she bent over to pick them up, her whole body went slightly limp.

Panicked, Ramona reached out and steadied her. She felt like a sack of potatoes, like dead weight. Slowly, Ramona tipped her upright.

“Whoa,” Debra said. “Sorry. I must've moved too quickly. Just a rush of blood to the head.”

Ramona wouldn't let go. “You're okay?”

Debra pushed her away. As always, she was a proud woman. She didn't want anyone propping her up, even if she needed the support. “I'm fine. I'm fine.”

Ramona looked her up and down. Sure, she looked strong and feisty. Her coloring was good and her movements were confident. But Ramona knew there was still something broken in her. Like Dr. Nguyen said, her heart needed to heal itself.

It would take time.

“So what did you want to tell me?” Debra said.

Ramona looked at Debra's wrinkled hands. They trembled slightly. Most people wouldn't even notice the movement, but Ramona did.

“Hmm?” Debra pressed.

“Oh, uh, I wanted to ask for your help with the audio equipment,” she said. “I have no idea what I'm doing.”

Rob looked like a skinner, taller version of Scott. Between the two of them, Scott got the muscles and the roguish good looks, while Rob got the book-smarts and the nine-to-five aspirations. Rob was a buttoned-up, slightly stern version of his younger brother.

At no time was this more obvious than when they were yelling at each other.

“I don't care how this whole thing started!” Rob said. “It's not healthy!”

“Not healthy?” Scott said.

“For anybody! Especially Mom! She doesn't deserve the two of you playing dress-up in front of her! And it's not healthy for you, either! And Jeffrey is all confused. Don't you think—”

“Keep your voice down,” Scott scolded. “Mom's upstairs.”

Because it was the night before her big party, Debra had decided to get an early night's rest. That meant Ramona was outside doing last-minute preparations, and the two McInney boys were in the kitchen making sure the food was good to go. Or at least, that was the plan. A few minutes of fridge patrol had quickly devolved into a mini-Civil War, with two brothers shouting at each other like long-lost enemies.

“I know where Mom is!” Rob said. “I'm her son, too.”

“Could've fooled me,” Scott answered. “Got any more business trips planned?”

They both stood in the dark kitchen. Neither had bothered to turn on the overhead light.

“That was a onetime thing!” Rob said. “I came back for her party, didn't I?”

“Look, Rob. We'll tell Mom everything. I promise. But we should do it after the party. Let's give her that, okay?”

“But what if one of the guests blabs to her?” Rob asked. “A lot of people know about Nessa. How do you think she'll take the news if she hears it on the dance floor from one of her bridge club friends?”

“I told everyone to be discreet. They all know—”

“Someone's going to slip up, Scott. You might as well come clean now.”

The light clicked on overhead.

“Excuse me.” Ramona walked in between them.

“Ramona!” Scott jumped.

“I was out on the porch,” she explained. “I overheard things getting a little … heated.”

The brothers glared at each other in strikingly similar expressions. “Not really,” they said in unison.

“Great,” Ramona said, looking directly at Rob. “Then you won't mind if Scott and I go outside to check out the tent situation.”

Rob grumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Ramona asked.

“Maybe later,” Rob said, a little more confident now. “In fact, why don't you head home? We've got everything under control.”